


The Handprints That Bind Us

by SilAttemptsWriting



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dialogue Heavy, Do I know what I’m doing? Absolutely not, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Like really slow, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, no beta we die like Glenn, this is very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilAttemptsWriting/pseuds/SilAttemptsWriting
Summary: Byleth doesn’t know what to make of soulmates.According to everyone but her father, they are supposedly blessings from the Goddess, proof of her love for each and every mortal being living within Fódlan. They are the greatest pieces of themselves, representations of unbreakable bonds and undying love and whatever else the storybooks like to ramble about.Jeralt says all those esoteric concepts the nobles flaunt about are just a crock of shit. Instead, he says that soulmates are the people who will leave an impact on you in your life. Soulmates are people who incite change within you, who teach you lessons that cannot be put into words, who will both challenge you in everything you have ever known while also giving you a semblance of belonging.“Soulmates are not some divine blessing given to us by an outside source,”he told her once upon a time.“They are proof of our humanity.”
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg & Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Claude von Riegan, Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Everyone & Everyone, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, in a nutshell - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. One of Many Inevitable Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome to this monster of a fic, featuring canon divergence, soulmates, and more canon divergence!  
> Seriously, this fic is going to be a ride.  
> I’ve been wanting to write this for a very long time, and in a rare moment bravery, here I am. Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

Jeralt knew Sitri was dead long before Rhea delivered the news.

He knew, because he saw the mark of their soul bond cracking in front of his eyes, before it finally dulled to black.

It’s an ugly thing, the remnants of their bond. Her small handprint was a rich green, nestled between the fingers of his left hand, right where she had touched him for the first time. He remembers how overjoyed she was to discover their bond, how that joy fed into his own through their connection.

 _“I never thought I would find my soulmate,”_ Sitri had told him, her eyes bright and her smile wide. _“I’m glad it’s you.”_

It was powerful, their connection. Jeralt has other soulmates, he’s familiar with the bonds and how they differ from person to person, but Sitri’s bond with him was intense in ways the others could never measure up to. All the emotions hidden behind her blank eyes and neutral face came to life between their hands, a burst of white hot fire that left Jeralt reeling.

He loved it.

But now, he’ll never feel it again.

Rhea does not come to him immediately. She leaves him there, in his office, staring at the shattered handprint, grief and rage and despair all mixing into one tidal wave that nearly sweeps him off his feet. His knees grow weak, his mouth dries up, his hands begin to tremble.

He is so caught up in his own mind that he fails to notice the miracle slowly flickering into existence on his right hand.

He remains oblivious to his right hand, until Rhea comes back with his child nestled in her arms. He remains oblivious, until his child is passed to him, his hand landing on the back of his child’s head. He remains oblivious, until just as he’s brushing a finger across his child’s cheek, a hand—impossibly small—reaches up and latches onto him.

When he feels the tiny spark of _something_ between them, Jeralt knows exactly what has just happened. Grief melts away, its absence replaced with a surge of what can only be a fierce desire to nurture, to protect, to love.

When he eventually pulls away, when he sees the tiny, dark teal handprint curled around his finger, he knows what he must do.

* * *

  
Byleth doesn’t know what to make of soulmates.

According to everyone but her father, they are supposedly blessings from the Goddess, proof of her love for each and every mortal being living within Fódlan. They are the greatest pieces of themselves, representations of unbreakable bonds and undying love and whatever else the storybooks like to ramble about.

Jeralt says all those esoteric concepts the nobles flaunt about are just a crock of shit. Instead, he says that soulmates are the people who will leave an impact on you in your life. Soulmates are people who incite change within you, who teach you lessons that cannot be put into words, who will both challenge you in everything you have ever known while also giving you a semblance of belonging.

 _“Soulmates are not some divine blessing given to us by an outside source,”_ he told her once upon a time. _“They are proof of our humanity.”_

Since then, Byleth has believed her father’s take on soulmates. That’s not the part that has her confused and possibly concerned.

Most people have four or five soulmates in a lifetime—some rarer cases getting up to seven or eight. They are represented by handprints on their skin, a different color for every person. Their placement is said to be where your soulmate will touch you for the first time, skin to skin.

Byleth has eleven handprints scattered across her body.

Granted, she can’t see two of them without a mirror, and there’s one she will never see unless she cuts her hair, but she knows for a fact that she has eleven due to her “body count” being a hot topic among the mercenaries they work with.

That, and Jeralt’s concerns with them.

He hasn’t explicitly told her anything, but Byleth knows that he’s not exactly a fan of the silver one on her left shoulder—apparently one that’s been there since she was born. To which, Byleth finds amusing, considering there’s a faint outline of a light purple handprint on her stomach that’s borderline inappropriate—also one that’s been there since she was born.

Jeralt often grumbles about the red outline curled around her right wrist, and their mercenaries never fail to tease him about the time he thought it was blood when it first manifested.

As for the rest, he is simply curious about them. All of the handprints appeared on her skin when she was little more than a toddler, the last one appearing just a few months before she turned four years old—a sky blue handprint around her right elbow. They are all faint outlines now, waiting for the day when the right person will lay their hand on her skin.

Eleven soulmates. Over double the average amount.

And she has yet to meet a single one other than her father, whose print takes up the back of her head.

The gold one across the back of her neck? The royal blue one on her left bicep? The tangerine one on her collar? She has no names to label them with.

The navy one on her left hand? The silvery blue one on her right shoulder? The deep green one on her right hand? No faces come to mind when she thinks of them.

She’s not sure she ever wants to get involved with so many people. Aside from the amount of handprints on her body, Byleth has a reputation for being… odd, to put it nicely. Another hot topic among the mercenaries is her literal body count, and how creepy it is to see a young woman not even bat an eye at the sight of a mangled corpse. Would her soulmates feel the same way? Would they come into her life only to turn around and disappear the second they discover her nature?

But then she sits next to her father and he raises his hand to cradle the back of her head, and she realizes that her worries are unfounded. She reaches across his lap, her fingers curling around her mark on his hand, and a feeling of content washes over both of them as they wind down for the night. The unconditional love of a father soothes her mind, lulling her to a sleep filled with dreams of a throne.

And so the cycle repeats itself. Father and daughter do their duty day after day after day, each night spent sharing their bond with one another, soothing worries and fears while bolstering happiness.

The cycle is broken when Sothis awakens.

The cycle is shattered when Alois insists they come to the monastery.

* * *

  
Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude have to be some of the most interesting people Byleth has ever met. All three of them look to be on the cusp of adulthood, yet they know how to hold their own in a battle. Despite their obvious noble birth, the three are quick to fall into a three-way bickering session while trying to impress her.

Sothis finds its hilarious. Byleth would find it amusing, had Sothis not scared her shitless by laughing in her ear.

It quickly becomes clear to Byleth that they are more than just mere children. A glance at Edelgard tells Byleth that she is in a high position of power and she knows it. Edelgard has the fires of ambition in her lilac eyes, a drive to her that few could hope to match, and yet she looks upon Byleth with a cool gaze. Edelgard is watching her, evaluating her, waiting for an opportunity Byleth can’t hope to predict.

Dimitri is incredibly sincere and polite to a fault even in the face of teasing. He was the most competent fighter out of the three, navigating the battle with familiarity while Edelgard and Claude were hesitant. However, while his sincerity is true, there is more to him lurking underneath the surface, something dark and hidden.

Claude is a bit of a wild card, in Byleth’s eyes. He’s obviously mischievous, calculating, manipulative, and yet his heart doesn’t seem to be in it. Where his teeth flash in a cocky grin, his eyes lack the spark of genuine playfulness. Byleth doesn’t know what to make of him, only that he is clearly wearing a mask and does not intend to be seen.

What is perhaps the most interesting thing about them is the fact that they all sport a pair of gloves—well, gauntlets in Dimitri’s case. It’s odd that they would cover their hands when soulmates are so celebrated and encouraged. Even Byleth forgoes gloves, going so far as to cover little skin both to distract her enemies and to let those who look close enough see her marks.

But this trio? They are covered from their necks to their toes. She is sure if there were some way to cover a face without looking either suspicious or silly, they would have—especially Claude, who looks to have a handprint on his right cheek, thumb just under his eye. It’s too faded to make out a definite color.

 _“It **is** rather odd, isn’t it?”_ Sothis asks out of the blue. _“I thought nobles would jump at any chance to show themselves off, but they have yet to breathe even a word about soulmates.”_

* * *

  
Garreg Mach Monastery is way too big, Byleth decides upon spending ten minutes within its walls.

Had there not been an escort of knights to guide them deep into the monastery, Byleth would have gotten lost in the literal maze that is this glorified castle within minutes. As skilled as she is on the battlefield, Byleth has never had the best sense of direction.

Rhea is another oddity— _“I’m beginning to sense a trend here…”_ —among this frankly bizarre day. However, unlike the trio of lordlings that she has grown fond of, Rhea makes Byleth’s skin crawl whenever she looks at her. Something about her is… _off_ , but Byleth can’t figure out why. There’s a sense of familiarity to her, which does nothing to ease Byleth’s nerves. She is grateful Jeralt is still with her, despite the amount of questions she wants to hurl in his face.

 _“That’s putting it lightly,”_ Sothis remarks dryly.

“I can’t believe it. Forced back into the Knights of Seiros,” Jeralt grumbles once Rhea and her advisor—Seteth, Byleth recalls—have left the chamber. He glances at her ruefully, lips turned down in a frown. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. Looks like I’ll be stuck here for a while… and I’m afraid your services are requested as well.”

 _I must… work here?_ Byleth wonders at the same time as Sothis mutters, _“And what exactly **have** we been dragged into?” _Is this their next contract? What about the mission in the Kingdom? That was supposed to be today, had the lordlings not shown up on their doorstep. And what services are they requesting, exactly?

“As a mercenary?” Byleth asks, only for Jeralt to chuckle and shake his head.

“Nothing like that. They want you to teach, by the sound of it.”

Her requested service is to… _teach_? Out of everything they could have asked her to do, they want her to teach a bunch of brats at this academy? Byleth grabs Jeralt’s hand, pressing her fingers to the tiny handprint so he can feel the same wave of incredulous confusion as she does.

He chuckles, curling his hand around hers in an affectionate squeeze. “I know, it’s ridiculous. But from what I’ve been told, you’re not going to be thrown in blind. I think—“

He’s interrupted by the doors to the audience chamber slamming open. They whirl around to see a middle aged woman strutting into the room with her chin held high and a strained smirk on her face. An exasperated man follows behind, arms crossed and cheeks red.

“So, you must be the new trainee!” The woman declares, looking Jeralt up and down with dark, gleaming eyes. “My, how stern and handsome you are!”

Jeralt can surely feel the amusement rolling off Byleth in waves, seeing as he shoots her a withering _look_ before withdrawing his hand. “Er, no,” he responds, shaking his head. “I’m not the one you’re looking for. That would be my daughter here.” He turns to her, reaching up brush his hand along the back of her head. As he does so, a flicker of affection cradles her like a warm blanket. “You can handle things from here. Good luck.”

With that, Jeralt strides past them and makes a beeline for the door. The woman turns to Byleth, raising an eyebrow.

“So it’s you, then?” She asks, tilting her head. “So young…”

“Competence and age are not necessarily correlated, as you well know,” the man chides.

The two introduce themselves as Manuela and Hanneman, professors at the Officer’s Academy. Despite their bickering and jeering at each other— _“Does everybody in this place bicker with each other?”_ —Byleth is able to deduce that she is to become a professor… next school year. This school year, she will be trained in the ways of teaching at the academy by shadowing the other professors. With Jeralt back in service, Alois has been named a professor for the year, filling in the spot left vacant by the previous professor who had run off when attacked.

It’s… a lot to take in. Just how long is Jeralt going to be in service for? Long enough for Byleth to become a full fledged teacher at a school for noble brats? And why _her_ , anyway? She knows her skills surpass her peers, but so much so that she, a simple mercenary, would be hired at a pristine school meant to shape the future leaders of the continent?

 _“It doesn’t make sense,”_ Sothis says. _“But what else are you to do in the meantime?”_

Byleth supposes she has a point.

* * *

  
“Scored a teaching gig here, did ya?” Claude says in greeting as Byleth approaches him. “Talk about a great first impression.”

The understatement of the century, but Claude really doesn’t know how else to describe her presence at the monastery. To think that his “strategic retreat” lead to stumbling upon the Blade Breaker and his daughter.

And what a character she is. At first glance, Claude had thought her stoic nature was simply because she was unimpressed with the situation at hand—it’s not too far-fetched to think that mercenaries are commonly thrust into battle early in the morning, right?

But then as the morning dragged on, Claude began to notice that there are some _things_ decidedly off about Byleth. Nothing bad, per se, but nothing exactly good. Her stoicism, for starters, has yet to waver. From the moment he first laid eyes upon her, Claude hasn’t seen her expression change _at all_. From stabbing bandits to enduring his probing questions, Byleth’s face remains set in a blank, emotionless expression. It’s both fascinating and kind of unsettling.

And then there’s her sheer talent with a blade. Claude has seen his fair share of mercenaries and other hired blades, has been at the business end of more than a fair share in his opinion. He would really, _really_ hate to be at the business end of Byleth’s blade; he would much rather have Byleth’s blade pointed at his enemies. She would make a powerful ally, and he doesn’t want her to fall into the wrong hands—which are any hands but his.

What’s perhaps the most intriguing thing about his new assistant teacher are those handprints scattered across her skin. They’re hard to make out, pale outlines partially hidden by the little armor she’s wearing. Claude counted eight, but there might be nine—or maybe more.

He’s never met anybody with enough marks to rival his own count. Sure, he’s _heard_ of people with ten, eleven, even twelve marks, but to see someone else with so many marks in person… It makes him feel a little less hopeless about his own.

He wonders if she’s met any of her soulmates yet, has experienced the effects of a bond. He itches to ask her about it, ask if it really feels like a warm bath or like the thrill of a heated battle, if it really allows silent communication, if it really shows everything that makes up who you are to your soulmate and vice versa.

He holds his tongue for now, instead watching as Byleth nods her head in response to his comment. After all, Claude has ten soulmates himself. He’ll meet one of them eventually, he just has to be patient.

“I guess that means I better introduce myself properly.” Claude gives her a cheeky smile before straightening his shoulders. With an arm over his chest and an arm pressed against his back, Claude performs a textbook bow that makes the Almyran side of him bristle in humility. “I’m Claude von Riegan. I’m from the ruling house of the Leicester Alliance, but don’t worry too much about all that madness.”

His little stunt fails to incite a reaction from the former mercenary. Byleth just gazes at him with blank, violet eyes. Claude expected this, but he’s still a little put off. The lack of a reaction is really starting to bother him. He can’t read her at all.

“Have you met the folks from the Golden Deer House yet? Care to know more about anyone?” He offers, both to be polite like a good house leader and to see if Byleth will actually speak to him.

To his surprise, Byleth takes the bait. She questions him about everyone, listening with what he hopes is rapt interest as he gives his two cents on the members of his house. He knows he’s rambling a little, but it’s refreshing to have company that actually _listens_ to him, company that prods at him for more when most would just change the subject at the first chance they get. She even asks about himself, which was a little startling considering he was not expecting to be put on the spot like that.

She’s the curious type, it seems. He can work with that.

When Byleth walks away from him to speak with Dimitri, Claude feels significantly better about her presence at the monastery. This is going to be a _very_ interesting year with all kinds of mysteries to look into, Byleth arguably being the most intriguing out of everything he’s considered.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you seem enraptured by our new teacher’s assistant.”

Claude snorts, turning to greet Edelgard with a sly smile and a wink. “You sure you wanna go there? I saw the way you and His Princeliness were all over her this morning, dear princess.”

Edelgard scoffs. “I was merely showing my gratitude. She _did_ save my life, after all. And yours.”

“Hm, I suppose you have a good point,” Claude concedes with a grin. “I’ll admit, I wouldn’t say I’m enraptured, but she’s certainly piqued my interest.”

Edelgard raises an eyebrow. “Coin for your thoughts?”

Claude feels his grin widen. “Oh, I don’t know about that. My thoughts are worth far more than a single coin, Princess. Perhaps a secret or two will be sufficient payment.”

Edelgard rolls her eyes. “I should have known a simple question would turn into this nonsense. I merely wanted your opinion is all.”

His opinion, huh? Since when did she deem his thoughts important? “An opinion for an opinion?” Claude suggests.

Edelgard nods. “I can agree to that. It is only fair.”

All his thoughts and assumptions from earlier immediately jump to the tip of his tongue, and Claude has to delay himself by stretching his arms up and behind his head before he blurts out something he’ll regret. “I can’t say I like how stoic she is,” Claude admits, deeming this subject a safe one. “Nothing that’s happened today has gotten any kind of reaction out of her. It makes me wonder if she can truly feel anything.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Edelgard murmurs, her gaze flicking away from him to focus on Byleth and Dimitri. “But now that you mention it, I believe you may be onto something.”

Oh, he’s definitely onto something. He’s onto more than a couple of things if you ask him, but that’s a conversation for another day. “And what about you, Princess?” He teases. “Come now, pay up. Fair is fair.”

Edelgard turns back to level him with a steely gaze. He meets it evenly despite the cool trickle of unease running down his spine. He wonders what Edelgard is thinking, and wishes not for the first time that he could just _look_ into her mind and _see_.

“I want to know why she was made a teacher’s assistant instead of a Knight,” Edelgard eventually tells him, a slight frown on her face. “Not just anyone can teach at the Officer’s Academy; there are extensive procedures to follow before someone is even considered for the job, and yet she’s landed a training position in mere hours. It’s strange, don’t you think?”

“It almost sounds convenient,” Claude agrees. “But convenient for who?”

“That is exactly what I am hoping to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’ve enjoyed this so far! I’ll try to update once or twice a week, but bear with me, I juggle both school and work.  
> Chapters should start getting longer now that the exposition is mostly over.  
> See you soon! :D


	2. The Token Rival Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments! I know I’m slow to replying, but I’m grateful for them all the same :D <3  
> I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

“Dibs on the Black Eagles!” Manuela shouts.

“You cannot formally select a class to teach by shouting dibs, Manuela!” Hanneman retorts.

“Oh yeah? Well I just did! Dibs! _See_?”

Seteth pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long, exasperated sigh. He is dutifully ignored. Rhea just watches as Manuela and Hanneman get themselves into yet another argument, blinking owlishly while Alois throws his head back and laughs.

Byleth now understands why she has been given an opportunity to teach at a pristine academy. Aren’t these so-called professors going to be teaching the future Empress, King, and Sovereign Duke?

This is going to be a long year.

“Okay, _okay_!” Seteth yells, interrupting the rather ridiculous argument. “Manuela will teach the Black Eagles. End of discussion. Can we _please_ move on?”

“Why thank you, Seteth.” Manuela smiles, preening under Hanneman’s murderous stare.

“No need to thank me,” Seteth sighs. “Let’s just get the other two houses assigned. Gentlemen, if you will?”

Alois waves at Hanneman to go first, still chuckling to himself. Hanneman lets out a sigh of his own before straightening his posture and declaring, “Then I will teach the Blue Lions.”

“And that leaves Alois with the Golden Deer, with Byleth floating between all three. Good.” Seteth’s voice lowers into a mutter as he adds, “Glad we could settle this like adults.”

Despite his misgivings about her presence, Byleth is really starting to like Seteth. He happens to be the most _normal_ person out of everyone here, which is really saying something considering he’s… Seteth.

Seteth goes on to explain that there will be a mock battle between the three houses next week to further assess their abilities, evaluate their team effectiveness, and other things Byleth should probably be paying attention to but can’t because Rhea just keeps _staring at her_.

She goes to reach for Jeralt, only to remember he’s not there. This is… going to take some getting used to.

“And as for you, Professor Byleth,” Seteth says, snapping Byleth’s gaze away from Rhea. “You will—“

“Oh, spare her the lecture,” Manuela grumbles, sauntering over to her. She links their arms together, tugging Byleth along with surprising strength as she stalks out of the audience chamber. “I’m sure I can handle all the details, since I’m a _Professor_ myself,” she tosses over her shoulder.

A harmony of sighs, a base made from deep laughter, and an aria of light giggling creates a melodic chorus that matches the deep satisfaction in Byleth’s heart.

Byleth may not know Manuela very well, but from what she has seen, the woman is a very eccentric character. She’s a tempest when she wants to be, and a drama queen for the rest of the time. The way that she moves tells Byleth that despite her seemingly aloof attitude, this woman clearly knows her way around a fight. Actually, it looks like she’s been in one recently—

 _“That’s not a bruise,”_ Sothis murmurs.

Byleth squints at Manuela’s wrist and sure enough, the dark grey spot on her skin isn’t the result of internal bleeding, but rather a soul mark curled around her wrist, not an outline, but a full _mark_. It looks like her soulmate had grabbed her wrist in a sudden movement.

_“Intriguing! I wonder who it could be!”_

_Is that really important right now?_

_“Are you really going to try and tell me that you’re not curious as well?”_

Byleth doesn’t grace her with a reply. The doors to the audience chamber slam shut behind her with a resounding _boom_ , the click of Manuela’s heels and Byleth’s boots echoing through the hall. The guards spare them a glance, but do nothing to stop them as Manuela ushers Byleth to her office.

Just before they reach it, however, the door to another office opens, revealing a muttering Jeralt holding several lances that have seen better days. Jeralt raises an eyebrow when he spots them, eyes flicking between her and Manuela.

“Aren’t you supposed to be…” Jeralt starts, trailing off when Manuela rolls her eyes.

“I’m saving us from another one of Seteth’s lectures,” Manuela responds. Jeralt laughs.

“He’s a stuck-up guy, huh? Well, don’t let me keep you.” He looks to Byleth, an amused smile on his face but a certain hardness in his eyes that Byleth is all too familiar with. “Be on your guard, okay?”

_Love you kid. Stay safe, and I’ll see you soon._

“Always,” Byleth replies.

_You too._

With that, Jeralt walks off, resuming his muttering as he juggles his lances and spears. There’s a distinct crash and a plethora of curses that Byleth elects to ignore as Manuela pulls her into her own office, which doubles as an infirmary.

A poorly kept infirmary, considering there are medical supplies scattered everywhere and various bottles of alcohol that are _not_ used for medical procedures stacked on the shelves, but hey, Byleth isn’t one to judge. She eyes a bottle of whiskey, but ultimately decides it’s probably too early for that.

“I’ll get lectured later, but I figured it’s better me than you,” Manuela says once she shuts the door. “Besides, Seteth’s got nothing useful to say, he just has a stick where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Sothis barks out a laugh at that. Byleth is not _as_ startled this time.

“Anyway, I’ll just cut to the chase. Classes aren’t going to _really_ begin until after the mock battle, but in the meantime, there will be some training exercises among the houses.” Manuela gives her a wicked grin, eyes gleaming as she adds, “You’re gonna help me kick Hanneman’s ass.”

* * *

  
“Sorry, I’m sorry!”

Claude winces at the glare Jeralt gives him, the loud clanging and banging of the lances rolling down the stairs drowning out his voice. Good job, Claude. Nice going. It’s barely been two weeks since coming here, and he’s already pissing off the authorities. To make things worse, he’s pissing off _Jeralt_ , who hasn’t even been here a day.

He fidgets under Jeralt’s gaze, reaching up a hand to rub at the back of his neck as he averts his gaze. Part of it is an exaggeration of how he feels, hoping that by playing it up he can escape punishment, but he mostly feels, well, _sorry_. He didn’t intend to make a mess. He was hoping to get himself in Jeralt’s favor—considering the man saved his life—but he may have just ruined that.

He hears Jeralt let out a sigh before he says, “What are you even doing up here anyway, kid?”

Claude peeks up at him, recognizing the narrow eyes and the frown as the famous No Bullshit Look that both his mother and his grandfather used to give him whenever he stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.

Damn, he really misses his mama.

“Oh, I’m just exploring the grounds,” Claude says easily. “I haven’t been up here yet, wanted to check it out.”

“So you decide to do that when you’re supposed to be in your classroom, two weeks into the year?” Jeralt shoots back, quirking an unimpressed brow.

Ah, so he’s the blunt type. Figures.

“Better late than never, right?” Claude grins, sticking out a hand. “Besides, now I’ve got an opportunity to formerly meet the knight who helped save my life. I’m Claude von Riegan.”

Jeralt chuckles, reaching out to grasp Claude’s hand and _wow_ , his hands are huge, and… is that a tiny handprint on his finger or is he just seeing things?

“Jeralt Eisner,” he replies. “Tell you what, how about you help me clean up this mess and tell me what you were _really_ doing up here, and we’ll call it even.”

Claude should have known he wasn’t going to get out of this one. “Alright, fine, you win,” Claude relents, raising his arms in a mock surrender. This is hardly the worst situation he’s ever been in. He’ll work through it and hopefully leave this interaction in the past. “I was hoping to eavesdrop.”

Jeralt marches down the stairs, beckoning Claude to follow. “Thought so. You gonna tell me what you were eavesdropping for, or am I gonna have to wring it out of you?”

“What, worried about what little ol’ me will find?” Claude teases, hopping the last couple stairs to reach the lower floor faster. He scoops up a lance, marveling at the weight until he realizes Jeralt hasn’t responded. He turns back to see the captain watching him with narrow eyes.

Claude feels very small in this moment. Even while holding a steel lance, feeling the weight of his dagger on the inside of his coat, knowing his strength and wits, he feels no bigger than a child. Jeralt is not a small, ordinary man. He’s the Blade Breaker, the former Captain of the Knights of Seiros, a man strong enough to snap Claude in two if he wishes. The lance feels like a mere toy in his hands at the thought.

“Don’t go looking for trouble,” Jeralt orders. “It’s not worth your life.”

Now _that’s_ a loaded statement if Claude has ever heard one.

“My life?” Claude echoes. “Eavesdropping on what the church plans to do with you and your daughter could cost me my life? What ever made you think that?”

Jeralt pinches the bridge of his nose, and Claude can’t help but think he looks an awful lot like Seteth. “Of course. If you wanted to know about us, you could have just asked.”

“Don’t go changing the subject now,” Claude responds, only for Jeralt to glare at him again.

“No, I think I will. Just ask next time. I shouldn’t have to tell you not to eavesdrop on matters that aren’t your business.”

“But—“ Claude goes to protest, but Jeralt steps into his space then, gripping the lance in Claude’s possession with one hand.

“Not now,” he hisses, pulling the lance from Claude’s hands. “Run along now,” he says, jerking his head toward the stairs, “before you get caught.”

Sure enough, footsteps begin to thunder down the stairs, accompanied by voices. Claude blurts out a quick thanks before scurrying off towards the Officer’s Academy, all while Jeralt watches him carefully.

He has a lot to think about.

* * *

  
“Wait, you’re a _teacher’s assistant_?” Caspar exclaims. “I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Easy, Caspar,” Dorothea chides. “Aren’t you being a bit rude?”

“You know it’s a waste of time to expect politeness from him,” Linhardt mutters, looking Byleth up and down. “But he has a point. I thought you would be a student alongside us.”

“Or even one of the knights,” Ferdinand adds. “I hear we are close in age, after all.”

“Now now, class,” Manuela calls from the front of the room. She’s fiddling with her books and various parchments. “Byleth _is_ a student, she’s just learning a different curriculum. Now take your seats.”

“I will take great joy from your teachings, Professor,” Petra tells her before moving to sit beside Dorothea.

Bernadetta mutters under her breath, so quiet Byleth almost doesn’t hear her. “Not only did I already have one professor watching my every move, but now there’s an assistant as well? Oh no…”

“I have high hopes for you,” Edelgard says, pulling Byleth’s gaze from Bernadetta back to her. “I’m glad you’ve taken an interest in the Black Eagles. This will be an enlightening year for all of us.”

Byleth feels a surge of affection for the Eagles. They seem like an earnest bunch, excited for what’s to come, and she can’t help but share their enthusiasm.

* * *

  
“Wait, you’re _not_ a student?” Annette squeaks. “But I was speaking to you so casually, as though we were companions! Oh, I am so sorry, Professor! You just look the same age as the rest of us and… Oh, and I’m sorry I just said that too! I really must watch my tongue…”

“I’m not a professor,” Byleth protests. “Just treat me like you would your classmates.”

“You say that, but… I just don’t know about all of this!”

“I’ll admit,” Dimitri chimes in, “it doesn’t sit right with me either. After all, we wish to show you due respect.”

“Sure, but, if our new teacher’s assistant says it’s okay, shouldn’t that be enough?” Sylvain says, before he grins. “That is… if Your Highness can consent to such a thing.”

Hanneman clears his throat. “Matters of formality can be settled after class. Take your seats.”

“Come to the training ground later,” Felix says, ignoring Hanneman entirely even while the rest of the Lions move to sit. “There, you will show me what you’re capable of.”

“Felix, not now,” Ingrid scolds.

 _“They are a lively bunch, aren’t they?”_ Sothis murmurs fondly. Byleth lets out a little huff as she moves to take her post.

_Lively, yes. But they seem like hard workers. Working with them will be fun._

* * *

“Finally decided to pay us a visit, Teach?” Claude greets as Byleth and Alois walk into the classroom.

“So you really _are_ a teacher’s assistant, huh?” Hilda asks, twirling a lock of pink hair around her finger. “Must be so much work…”

“One must truly marvel at the exceptionality of this appointment,” Lorenz comments, gazing at Byleth quizzically. “Becoming an assistant to students almost the same age as yourself. How… unusual.”

“Are you really as strong as they say you are?” Raphael exclaims. “Let’s see your biceps!”

“Well, I would think so,” Ignatz replies. “Professor Alois _did_ recommend her personally.”

“That I did!” Alois claps a hand on her shoulder, his light armor catching on her cloak. “And for good reason! As I’m sure you all know by now. Anyhow, it’s time for class!”

Alois walks to his desk, only to stop and stare at the chalkboard. On its surface, there’s a crude drawing of a deer with the words “Fear the Deer” scribbled underneath it.

“Who erased my notes?”

Snickers erupt from the class, minus Lysithea and Lorenz, who look just as annoyed as Alois. Byleth spots Claude knocking elbows with Leonie and shooting a thumbs-up at Hilda. He then turns to Byleth and grins with a wink, holding a finger to his lips.

The Deer are, without a doubt, the troublemakers of the three houses, but if this interaction is anything to go by, Byleth expects to be roped into some entertaining shenanigans.

Especially when she holds her tongue and Leonie beams at her.

* * *

  
Byleth slams twenty gold in the space between her and Jeralt’s seats, the coins clacking against the wooden bench as she declares, “I’m betting on the Blue Lions.”

Jeralt, without missing a beat, flicks his own portion of gold into their makeshift pot. “Twenty on the Deer.”

“The Deer?” Byleth asks. She thought he would have bet on the Eagles.

“The Deer,” Jeralt confirms. “Their leader is a crafty one. Damn brat got the jump on me the other day, made me drop all my lances down the stairs.”

“I still don’t understand why you have so many lances,” Byleth mutters.

“Variety.”

“They’re all _lances_.”

“One’s a javelin,” Jeralt defends.

“A javelin you use _as a lance._ ”

“Are you two _betting_?” A knight asks, peering at them in curiosity. A closer look at him tells Byleth it’s the same cheerful knight that watches the gates to the monastery, lovingly nicknamed the Gatekeeper by students and staff alike.

“That depends,” Jeralt replies with a sly smile. “You wanna lose some money?”

The Gatekeeper blinks, shuffles in place, and then digs a hand into a pouch strapped to his belt. He pulls out several pieces of gold, much to Byleth’s amusement and delight.

“Twenty on the Eagles,” he says, dropping the coins onto the growing pile.

“You’re on,” Jeralt laughs, clapping him on the back as he stands. “Alright, I’m off to do my job.”

He walks to the edge of the battlefield, waving for the Professors to finish up their pep talks before joining them on the sidelines. From what Byleth can see, the Black Eagles are in the northeast part of the field, murmuring among themselves as Manuela looks on with pride. The Golden Deer are eyeing the forest in the northwest, Alois clapping their shoulders with encouraging words. That leaves the Blue Lions in the south, Hanneman pointing to various spots on the field while the students chatter among themselves.

Now, there’s a reason Byleth bets on the Blue Lions, and that reason is decidedly not because of Hanneman. Hanneman is a very “by the books” professor, and as such, his positioning and tactics are easily predictable.

However, Dimitri and Felix are on the field.

Dimitri, as Byleth concluded before, has obviously been in a real battle or two. He may not know his way around a battlefield the way Byleth does, but he has enough familiarity with the chaos of one to be able to navigate it efficiently and get out unscathed. The night they first met is proof of that.

Felix, on the other hand, well… Byleth doesn’t think the guy has any hobbies aside from yelling at Sylvain and training. Byleth has seen him challenge multiple students and staff alike to spars and _win_ , sometimes effortlessly beating his opponents into the dirt. Byleth itches to test her own blade against his, but she has yet to make time for a proper spar.

Point is, Byleth has had a week to get to know the students at this point, and when it comes to a fighting with nothing but your wits and your weapon, experience is the winning factor. There are plenty of students eager to fight, plenty of students who train religiously, plenty of students dedicated to learning the art of battle, but there is only so much simulation can do when it comes to the real thing.

Byleth knows this. She knows it as well as she knows herself, as well as she knows her father.

She did not expect both Claude and Edelgard to come to the same conclusion.

Byleth expected Edelgard to lead her surrogate army in a bold charge against the other two houses, expected her to stomp out her opponents with sheer force or be defeated while trying. She expected much the same of Dimitri, only a more defensive approach rather than a charge. He would hold his ground and let his enemies come to him, take the hit and counter with twice the strength. She expected Claude to analyze the battle and swoop in with some sort of plan to shake things up, to confuse and toy with his enemies until he either came out on top or didn’t.

In a way, that is _exactly_ what happened.

It’s just… it was supposed to be a three-way battle. Byleth didn’t think the rivalry between the three houses would allow any of them to even consider ganging up on each other.

Yet, Claude and Edelgard had come to the same conclusion as Byleth; Dimitri and Felix are powerful enemies with valuable experience nobody else has. Mercedes is the most gifted white mage Byleth has ever met. Dedue is a powerhouse and a wall of steel. Ashe is a slippery archer with silent footsteps and sharp eyes.

And Claude and Edelgard looked each other in the eye and simultaneously decided: _Nope. Not today._

As such, the mock battle went like this:

Claude and his allies melted into the forest—except for Lorenz, who decided immediately charging the Eagles would be a _fantastic_ idea. Edelgard lead her allies right for the Lions—Hubert hanging back to deal with Lorenz by keeping just out of his range while casting little purple spells at his feet until Lorenz eventually tripped over himself and was declared defeated.

While that little dance was going on, the Eagles had intercepted the Lions. Ashe was quickly knocked out of the field, but at the cost of Ferdinand—who had been targeted by Felix immediately. For a while, Byleth thought the Lions would overpower the Eagles, as Edelgard had ordered her allies to fall back and take on a defensive position.

But then the Deer came in from the sidelines, and by working in tandem with the Eagles, the Lions were swiftly defeated—along with Hilda and Dorothea.

And before the Deer and Eagles could begin their own skirmish, Hubert took out Marianne and left only Claude and Ignatz against Hubert, Edelgard, and Bernadetta.

To say it was a battle is being too generous. The remnants of the Eagles ended up chasing the last two Deer all around the battlefield, quite literally running in circles, until _eventually_ , Claude was taken out by a lucky arrow from Bernadetta and Ignatz was cornered by Edelgard.

Byleth had exactly two thoughts when Jeralt declared the Eagles as the winners.

The first was, _I really have my work cut out for me, huh?_

The second was, _oh dammit, I lost twenty gold to the Gatekeeper of all people._

The Gatekeeper was obviously ecstatic when he realized he won a net profit of forty gold.

 _“Are you really so surprised by how this so-called battle went?”_ Sothis teases, warm affection coating her words. _“They **are** children, after all.”_

 _They are not much younger than I am_ , Byleth shoots back, only for Sothis to chuckle.

_“And you are hardly more than a child yourself. These children were not raised like you were. Most probably don’t know the hardships of battle like you do. Of course they’re going to play around, it’s what children do.”_

And looking back to the field, seeing Edelgard with a wide and proud grin on her face, seeing Mercedes and Dorothea giggle together, seeing Lorenz question Hubert about his magic with a giddiness so unlike him, seeing Claude chatting animatedly with a flustered Bernadetta and a grinning Ashe, seeing Ignatz approach Felix shyly at first and then growing awed when Felix demonstrates different sword swings…

They truly _are_ children. This mock battle was supposed to be the equivalent of an exam, and yet it was treated as a game between the classes, a fun rivalry doubling as a learning experience. It’s all so innocent, and Byleth hopes this innocence will stay intact for as long as possible.

* * *

  
“Fight me,” Felix growls.

“Uh, no thanks,” Hilda replies. “I’m already so wore out from this battle. I’m a delicate flower, you know?”

“I don’t buy that for a second.”

Hilda waves her hands at her uniform. “Just look at all this _sweat_! I don’t think I can even make it back to the monastery!”

Dimitri clears his throat as he approaches them. “We’re about to depart for the monastery. Are you ready to go?”

“Oh, Your Highness, thank goodness!” Hilda jogs up to him, batting her eyelashes with a sweet smile. “Can you tell Felix that I’m in no condition to spar?”

Dimitri blinks. “You look perfectly fine to me. If anything, I encourage a spar with Felix. You’re both skilled fighters, and—“

“Save it, boar,” Felix snaps at the same time as Hilda whines, “But I’m no good at fighting!” Dimitri winces as Felix approaches with a sneer. “You can drop the act,” Felix barks. “You’ll be exposed for what you really are soon enough. Now stay out of my sight.”

With that, Felix stalks away. Dimitri longs to reach out, longs to fit his hand to the mark on Felix’s bicep, longs for Felix to curl his own hand around Dimitri’s wrist, longs to follow the pull his soulmate has on him, longs to feel the bond between them for the first time in two years.

But Felix keeps walking, and Dimitri doesn’t follow. The mark on his wrist burns more with every step Felix takes, and he knows Felix must feel it too, must feel the empty, gaping hole in his chest, must feel the crushing weight of want and need and loneliness.

“Boar?”

Hilda’s musing snaps Dimitri from his thoughts. Her nose is wrinkled, lips turned down in a frown.

“You’re nothing like a boar,” she says. “You’re more like… a puppy. A puppy is a much cuter comparison, don’t you think? Certainly better than a boar. I just don’t see where he got that comparison from.”

 _You’d be wise to listen to him,_ Dimitri thinks as he begins the trek back to the monastery, Hilda’s ramblings nothing but background noise. _Felix knows me better than anyone, and he’s always had keen insight._

Felix’s handprint burns. Dimitri relishes in it, focusing on the fiery pain in hopes of forgetting the ice cold numbness coming from Glenn’s mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! :D I know it’s a little slow right now, but now that I’m past the mock battle, things will start picking up >:3c  
> See you soon!


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